


An Unexpected Night

by perfectpro



Series: The Magician's Assistant [2]
Category: Now You See Me (2013)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 04:21:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4249107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectpro/pseuds/perfectpro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since Henley is still fairly new at being Daniel's assistant, they spend most nights working on illusions for the show. Working late one night, they have a few drinks and Henley stays the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Night Before

It turns out that Henley is more than a fast learner. She understands the tricks easily, going on to add her own flair to some of them. She squeezes herself into boxes carefully, after being shown how to safely and gently dislocate her shoulders. Daniel is more than willing to demonstrate anything she asks, something that causes the techs to muffle their gossip behind closed trap doors and mirrors.

“All you want me to do is get out of the handcuffs?” she asks him one day as they lounge in his apartment. Daniel’s gotten into the habit of challenging her with tricks and escape acts, and Henley understands that this is a form of initiation, of him making sure he’s not revealing secrets to someone who doesn’t deserve them. Magicians’ trade and all is what she believes it to be, humoring him and putting her wrists behind her back. “Well?” she asks, wriggling her fingers as she waits to feel the cool metal encase her wrist.

Daniel obliges after only a moment, making sure that he hasn’t given her an unfair advantage by leaving them too loose. Then he pauses and adjusts them when he notices that they look tight enough to be uncomfortable. “If you can’t do it, I’m sure I can call Rebecca and get her for just this show. You know, if I need to. You haven’t been doing too badly, once you’re less afraid of handling Lois I’m sure things will improve. Beyond what they already have, I mean. You’re fairly adept at the contortionist part of the job, which is normally the hardest for people to grasp. I was planning on adding in some stuff for the show next weekend, so we’ll need to double our practice time for tomorrow. If you can’t handle the tricks the first time, it’s fine; Rebecca can do some of the shows until you get the hang of everything.”

She cuts him off by handing him the pair of handcuffs and watches his eyes widen. “I wouldn’t call Rebecca in if I were you,” she tells him, sauntering over to the kitchen to pour herself some juice. Daniel’s refrigerator is always surprisingly full, stocked with supplies for any meal imaginable. He’s so uptight that sometimes Henley will entertain herself by trying to think of him relaxed, tossing ingredients together as his iPod plays in the background. The image doesn’t come to mind easily, and she mostly attributes that to the fact that he never seems to slow down, no matter what they’re doing. The vision of him languidly mixing spices doesn’t fit with the persona he always comes across with.

“Getting handcuffs off doesn’t change the fact that you’re afraid of Lois. Which you should apologize for,” he finally says, putting the handcuffs away. It’s impressive, he realizes.  
She’s been impressing him with her growing knowledge of magic, the way she’s stopped asking questions and started giving answers. It’s been only a month since they met at the bar, and already he’s confident in her abilities to do pretty much every trick in his average show. He’s been working her up to the more difficult tricks, but she takes to them with ease.

The look she shoots him is harsher than most, but she wrinkles her nose after a moment and dislodges the angry expression from place. “When you see your dachshund get attacked by a viscous rabbit, you handle Lois and see how you feel. Because prior to this job that was the only experience I’d ever had with bunnies. How do I know that she won’t eat my finger when I offer her a carrot?” she demands, genuine concern spreading over her features. “It’s hard to deal with, alright?”

Daniel muffles a laugh by faking a cough, grinning at the way she’s so frightened of the rabbit they use in the show for some tricks. He turns to the rabbit hutch-cage thing that sits in the corner of the room and wriggles a finger through the bars. “I like you, Lois,” he says consolingly to the white rabbit that blinks back at him in return. .

“I like her,” Henley snaps at him, drinking from a glass with a pinched look upon her features.

He arches an eyebrow, but offers no comment other than, “You’re just afraid of her.”

“God, Daniel, you’re so annoying.” The way she says it is fond instead of exasperated, and she wears a smile that renders the words invalid. Over the time they’ve spent together, she’s found that Daniel is actually kind of a nice guy. Nice in an asshole-ish way, admittedly, but nice. He may tease her about her attitude to the bunny, but he never asks her to hand him the animal or even to feed it. He’s also never mentioned her fear to anyone else, not even to the techs that help set up and orchestrate the show. He just claims that he’s the only one who gets to pick up Lois and shoos them quickly away before they can ask questions.

Thinking back to the night they’d met, she wonders why she didn’t realize his true personality earlier. Probably, her mind suffices, because you assumed he only wanted to sleep with you.

She waves the thought away after only a moment’s consideration and turns back to the fridge. 

He jolts her out of her reverie by asking, “What are you doing for dinner tonight?” He’s just noticed that it’s half past eight, about two hours later than they usually stay together on the pretense of practice. Honestly, Henley doesn’t need much more practice. It’s gotten to be where they go over the usual things once or twice before moving to things he wants to add into the show. Calling Rebecca back is getting more and more unrealistic the longer that he spends with her. Their lessons have diminished into sessions that consist of hanging out and attempting new occasional new tricks. It’s a lot less like a business partnership and a lot more like friendship.

A moment of thought reminds her that she isn’t bartending tonight, and she leans onto her elbows on the counter. “No plans. Want to show off your culinary prowess?” she giggles, sliding onto a bar stool and grinning at him, hoping that she’ll actually get to see him use the skills she assumes he has.

Her assumption proves to be correct. He teaches her to cook that night, how to measure the right amount of olive oil by simply eyeballing it and how to cut the unusable ends off of peppers and how to fillet a fish. What amazes her is how he’s not at any other person’s definition of relaxed, but it’s relaxed for Daniel. He’s still giving the instructions, comfortable in the dominant position, but Henley can tell that she’s seeing a rare side to him. There’s no music playing, and he’s not humming or anything as he cooks, but he’s relaxed in the after-hours atmosphere that’s taken hold of the home.

They eat tilapia that has a spread of spicy mustard and brown sugar on it alongside a side dish consisting of red, green, and yellow peppers that have been sautéed with onions. It’s so outside of Henley’s world of pizza and burgers that she praises the food continually. “Where did you get the recipe for this? It’s phenomenal,” she gushes, cutting off a bite of fish and smiling at him.

The pause that follows is awkward as he thinks about the question. “Recipe? I don’t have a recipe for this.”

Grinning, she spears a piece of onion with her fork. “A magician and a chef. You’re going to make some girl very lucky one day,” she teases him before standing to pour them drinks.

He waves her back down as soon as she’s stood up, stepping over to the refrigerator and searching through the contents. “I’m going to make some girl miserable one day; don’t kid me. I’ve got tea, beer, Coke, and red wine. What do you want?” he asks, grabbing a beer for himself as he waits for her answer.

“I’m only twenty, Daniel,” she reminds him.

An eye roll later, he’s still waiting at the fridge for her response. “You’re also a bartender. I’ve got tea, beer, Coke, and red wine,” he reiterates expectantly.

Henley takes a moment to consider the situation. She doesn’t have the strongest stomach for alcohol, but taking a Coke would feel too childish for her too bear. “Wine,” she tells him finally, still slightly in shock about the response to her mention of his talents. Daniel has never been anything but confident in his abilities; she can’t help but wonder what girl caused his lack of self-assurance in that particular area.

He passes her a glass of wine and sets his beer alongside his plate. “For a minute there, I thought I was going to be the one mixing your drinks when you asked for something ridiculous, like a cosmopolitan. Glad you’re simple.”

“Other girls,” she points out to him, “would take offense to that.”

He does nothing more than lift the corner of his mouth in a way that makes Henley wonder if he’s thinking about something else, someone else. Finally, he turns to her and says, “You’re not really like other girls, then.”

After an hour, they’ve finished their meal and sit with plates pushes aside, three empty beer bottles alongside them as Daniel pours Henley her fourth glass of wine. “You’re going to get me drunk,” she accuses him, waving a finger in his face as she laughs at the notion. “J Daniel Atlas, aiming to get some poor girl drunk.”

He nudges her elbow with his own and laughs with her. “I think you’re already there, Miss Lightweight. I thought you… You knew your limits,” he tells her, though his own words are beginning to slur ever so slightly with hypocrisy. Taking another swig of beer, he stares at his assistant and allows himself to be humbled for a moment. “You’re… You’re a great magician, Hen,” he finally says, already knowing that she’ll never let go of that if she remembers it in the morning. “Not just a great assistant, though you’re that too.” It’s the only time he’s verbally admitted that she’s capable of the same things that he is.

Her smile nearly blinds him, and she rests her head on his shoulder. “Thanks. You’re a great magician, but you’re kind of an asshole sometimes.” It takes a moment for her to realize how that must have come across and she amends, “To other people. You don’t mean to. You’re not an asshole to me.” She flushes momentarily, infinitely relieved that he can’t see her face.

“You’re not an asshole to me either,” he finally tells her.

They sit like that for a good while until Henley says, “I don’t think I can drive like this.” And it’s something that neither of them had thought about, how she was going to get home.

Without much thought, Daniel shrugs. “So stay the night here. I have a guest room and stuff.” It’s not like he’d be inconvenienced; the guest room had never been used the entire year he’d owned the apartment. He was actually considering turning it from a spare bedroom into a workspace to practice new tricks in. He and Henley never had enough space in the apartment to practice the portion of the show where he saws her in half, always having to reserve that for the theatre.

Smiling, Henley nods. “That’ll work, Daniel. Why do you go by Daniel, anyway? Danny fits you better.”

“So call me Danny,” he tells her, tossing an arm over her shoulder to keep her from falling off of the chair in a fit of unbalance. 

That starts an entirely different conversation, and they stay up until three in the morning, exhausting both Daniel’s supply of beer and of sobriety. Henley eventually puts the mostly empty bottle of wine away “for her own good” and kisses his cheek goodnight, signaling an end to the session of laughter.

Daniel stays up for a short while after that, mostly mulling over the past few hour and how his life has changed directions slightly since hiring Henley.


	2. The Morning After

Henley wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, woolen blankets scratching against her sensitive skin. Light filters in from slatted blinds at the window in the eastern wall, and she rolls over and tries to ignore the alcohol-induced headache that's taken hold of her in consciousness. The alcohol that she drank at Daniel's, staying up through all hours of the night as they talked about everything under the sun. She'd had far too much to think about making her own way home, which was obviously true if the setting she didn't recognize was anything to go by.

That means that the room is Daniel's spare room, the one with the door positioned unobtrusively adjacent to the bathroom. It makes her groan to realize that she's in Daniel's apartment still, knowing that she'll have to face him with a hangover. “Shit,” she moans into the pillowcase, pulling it to her face as she squints against the light.

She’s always been a lightweight, and she knows it, so she doesn’t make a habit of drinking much or of drinking often. It’s embarrassing. She’s a bartender, for Christ’s sake. She should be able to hold more than a couple of glasses of wine before she’s slurring her words and standing on wobbly legs. Nevertheless, her body isn’t of the same opinion, so she gets used to the uncomfortable headaches that comes with her hangovers.

The night comes back to her in a series of images that go from crystal clear to hazy, from the dinner to when they lay on the couch, sprawled over each other as the end credits of some FX movie rolled in front of them. She can remember the angle of Daniel’s neck as he leaned and lifted his head into the moonlight from his balcony, almost wanting to be absorbed by it.

She'd laughed and danced with him on that balcony, the music from a nearby practicing garage band guiding them. Not touching much, just moving with the music and doubling over when the singer howled, “I burned the book you left in my car!” Henley had leaned over the railing, clutching it with dependence as she shouted, “Fuck you, John Green!” into the night. The band had responded with a chorus of screaming agreements and a series of guitar rifts. Daniel had slumped against her side as they'd stood and broke down into hysterical laughter there among his patio furniture, nearly knocking some plant onto the street in their antics.

The memories are good ones, even the one of when she'd stumbled on the topic of her ex-boyfriends and let a few stray tears make their way down her cheek. Danny had offered her a tissue and had switched topics in a way that made the conversation shift seem natural. It had been a good night, so good that she couldn't bring herself to regret the headache and nausea that it had caused her.

Just as she the thought enters her head, her stomach rolls and she shoots out of the bed and through the door to the bathroom, hands clawing at the porcelain of the toilet as she wretches into it heavily. Her mouth feels like something has crawled in to go to die, tongue thick and hard to maneuver through the stale air. She flails slightly as she reaches up to turn on the sink while still preoccupied with the toilet, finally finding purchase on the silver handled faucet.

“Sounds like you're having about the morning I had an hour ago,” Daniel mentions from behind her, turning the sink on and filling a large glass with water. 

Breathing heavily through her mouth, Henley senses another lump of bile rise in her throat at the light he'd turned on. She vomits again, acid-heavy and disorienting. Finally resting her forehead against the cool porcelain, she looks at him through lashes held closely together to keep the light out. He holds the glass out to her, the other hand moving comfortingly to her back. She accepts the glass, gulping the cold liquid with fever. “Thanks,” she croaks, placing it on the counter and standing slowly. 

He gives her a sympathetic wince and places two Ibuprofen on the counter next to glass. “I've got Gatorade and granola bars in the kitchen whenever you feel up to eating.” His voice is soft, though whether that's for her benefit or for his own she's unsure of.

“How much did we drink last night?” she asks him, filling the glass of water again to take the pills with. 

Rubbing his hands over his eyes, Daniel finally confesses, “Enough to be a problem. I didn’t think you’d had that much, though.” He looks almost apologetic at the words, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth momentarily. She’s always been a lightweight. If Henley were sober, she'd take a moment to reflect on what a rare look it is on his face, how the oddity makes his usual look of overconfidence go missed.

“I've been worse, but not recently. Thanks for letting me stay here last night,” she acknowledges, sloshing back the pills quickly to get it over with. She hates pills, sometimes chokes on them because it's like her throat doesn't want to let foreign objects go down. Luckily, they get down without too much trouble and leave Henley to focus on Daniel and how to explain that she needs to pee but he's still in the bathroom.

“No problem. I...” His voice drifts off as he leans close to her to tuck a hair behind her ear. He freezes, though, and seems to realize what he’s doing if the way he worries at his lip is any indication. “I've got to make sure the toast doesn't burn,” Daniel spits out suddenly, disappearing and leaving her alone in the bathroom.

His momentary presence right beside her seems familiar to her in a way that it shouldn’t, as though they’ve been in the same position before and she can’t remember when. Of course, they’ve been close before. They have to be for the routine, the lack of space between them nothing short of professional. This time though, Henley can’t say that it felt professional. It felt more like what she’s used to with friends, a casual closeness that has a physical element to it.

She and Daniel aren’t that close… Though, thinking back on what she can of the previous night, they might be now. After drinks and dancing, winding talks that don’t really go anywhere, they might be that close. A low flush colors her cheeks as she thinks about it. 

She’s never had a lot of friends. People she likes, yes. People who like her, sure. When she’d gone off to college, making friends with the girls in her dorm had been easy. After a year, though, when she figured out that she liked the social aspects of college better than the rest of it, she’d packed goodbye and promised to call. She hadn’t called, though, and neither had they, and Henley knows that she can’t exactly call those girls her friends anymore. And she does have a few friends in the city, mostly coworkers from the bar who treat her like a little sister. She doesn’t mind their teasing words, but sometimes she minds when they treat her like a baby.

Though she and Daniel haven’t known each other long, she already feels more comfortable with him than with people she’s known a great deal longer. Maybe it’s because they spend more time together, mostly working on the act, but sometimes just hanging out. It’s pleasant, even relaxing. 

She finishes up and leaves the bathroom, looking over in the guest room to see if she had left her phone or wallet somewhere by the bed. The nightstand is barren aside from the alarm clock, though, so she moves onto the main portion of the apartment fairly quickly. “Have you seen my phone?” she asks, glancing at the coffee table before looking to the kitchen, where Daniel is holding out a mug of coffee for her.

“I couldn’t remember how much cream you take, but it has two sugars,” he says, turning back to the cutting board in front of him. Piled high with diced onions, tomatoes, green peppers, and ham, he finishes chopping a few sprigs of cilantro before adding olive oil to the pain on the stove.

“I don’t take cream,” she says, sipping at the drink before hissing and drawing back from the heat. “Hot,” she mumbles, taking a seat on one of the barstools. “I don’t believe you threw up. Are you even hungover?” He doesn’t look bad at all, probably much better than she does. Henley touches at her face self-consciously, having been afraid to look in the mirror during her time in the bathroom. 

Whisking a fork through a bowl of raw eggs, he arches an eyebrow at her. “You really are a lightweight. I wasn’t that bothered.” He goes back to mixing various things, throwing a pinch of salt into the eggs and adding a splash of milk.

With a roll of her eyes, she surveys him carefully. This side of Daniel is new to her. They’ve spent time together where they weren’t working, but not often and not for long. 

“Whatever happened to the granola bars you mentioned?” Not that she prefers processed oats to omelets, but she’s curious as to why he feels he needs to go to all the trouble.

“Granola bars are for people who don’t know how to wield a spatula,” he informs her, pouring the egg mixture into the pan. It crackles and hisses against the oil, and the most wonderful aroma lifts up.

She watches him with a small smile, pinching her lips together to stem the laugh that threatens to escape when a drop of oil launches from the pan and lands, sizzling, against his wrist. “You didn’t have to do this,” she says as he pours the second half of the eggs into the pan once the first omelet has been removed.

The halfhearted glare he sends her way is enough to make her retract the statement.

“Okay, no, I’m very appreciative, but really. I could have gotten something from one of the bakeries on your block. I know you like to cook, but you don’t have to cook for me.” Her protests are cut short when he slides the first omelet, now plated, in front of her.

“You waited for me to start the second one on purpose,” he accuses, adding the rest of the ingredients to the now cooking eggs.

She doesn’t deny it, just grins to herself as she reaches for a fork and spears a small chunk of omelet.

“Besides,” Daniel continues, “I always cook when I have a girl over.” 

He doesn’t seem to realize what his words sound like, or he must not, and he also doesn’t notice when Henley nearly chokes on the admittedly delicious meal. Trying to lighten the tension that she feels, she teases him, “I bet all of your one night stands want to come back for seconds.”

“I have to push them out the door,” he agrees, before pausing and turning back to her with a wicked grin. “Want to see me flip it?”

Henley thought that was something that only cooking shows did. She nods and watches, enthralled, as he tosses the omelet up and catches it in one smooth motion. Unable to help herself, she even claps a little bit for him. The childish action seems to shock her back to composure, because she freezes before going back to eating. “Very nice,” she says, going over to the refrigerator to liberate a bottle of the ketchup from the door.

Watching her skeptically, he finishes the second omelet and turns off the stove before he realizes what she’s going to do. “Don’t defile my food that way,” he snaps, reaching over the counter to take back the ketchup. “I can’t believe you.”

She rolls her eyes and waits until he’s seated beside her before snatching it back. “Plans for the day?”

He glares reproachfully at her but seems to understand that he’s lost the battle, because he pointedly ignores her addition to the meal as he says, “Pick up more toothpaste, and then call my mom and convince her that I’m not a hermit who occasionally works kids’ parties as a clown. You?”

“Day shift at the bar in a few hours, then maybe a pedicure. Don’t become a hermit.”

“She’s convinced, although I can’t say that she doesn’t have reason to believe. I barely ever left the house in high school,” he comments.

They pass the morning like that, talking about what they need to do over the weekend before Monday comes around again. Henley leaves soon after they finish breakfast, stealing a few more Ibuprofen from his medicine cabinet before kissing Daniel on the cheek and heading out the door. She hails a cab and hums while she gives directions to her apartment, wondering all the while why the morning has felt so normal.


End file.
